


i'd kill to get my clothes washed and a cold thermal stone

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Concussions, Gen, adding tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: Wilson has a concussion. Wolfgang may or may not be cuddling him.
Relationships: Lucy/Woodie (Don't Starve), Wilson & Wolfgang (Don't Starve)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	1. uncomfortably sweaty and being held by a very burly and muscular strongman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfgang and Wilson cuddle.

Wilson shifted a little, blearily opening one of his eyes.

Apparently he was being held. By Wolfgang. The very muscular strongman.

It'd certainly explain why it was so warm.

His head also hurt, and, for just the slightest of moments, he wondered if Wolfgang was behind it, before remembering that he could probably trust him.

He certainly didn't remember falling asleep on someone else, much less Wolfgang. The only time he'd done that was by accident when Wickerbottom had lent him a shoulder to cry on.

Or, well, supposedly. He definitely remembered waking up in his bedroll that night.

He fiddled with a button on his waistcoat for a bit, before undoing all of the buttons. Summer temperatures were high -- they'd come down into the caves to escape them. Huddling together would only bring even more discomfort, so why was Wolfgang holding him--?

Wilson looked around the area, hissing in slight pain when his eyes stung as a result of looking at the endothermic fire pit. That was far too bright.

He hesitantly opened his eyes again, this time, focusing on what was in front of him. A very muscular arm, and what looked to be his legs.

He tested out moving them a little, finding a bit of dull surprise in the fact that they still worked.

Wolfgang shifted his arms a little, then looked straight at him, and he froze, and he wasn't sure what he'd just blurted out, and, judging by the slightly confused look on the strongman's face (one brow furrowed, the other neutral), it was probably some abomination of the English language. A mishmash of words.

He tried again this time, managing a halfway coherent question. "Wha' happen'?"

"Many things." The… considerably more jacked man replied. "Egghead get cracked, worried Wolfgang and the… book lady."

"Whatsup with muh 'ead now?"

"Wolfgang forgot the word." A slightly sheepish look. "Book lady probably knows it."

There was a slight grumble from the much shorter, much less muscular man in Wolfgang's arms, probably another mishmash of words that might've been some attempt at a coherent sentence.

The two remained silent for a little while longer, Wilson shifting to try and get comfortable. He discovered the bandaging around his head after a little bit of feeling around there, surprisingly well done for someone who wasn't in any sort of medical training.

Maybe that was by Wickerbottom?

He leaned against one of Wolfgang's arms, shutting his eyes again and trying to slow his breathing.

"Little egghead man needs rest. Will watch," Wolfgang rumbled. "And protect. Promise."

"'ppreciate it. Tired."

"Rest now."

"'m doin' it."

"Good, good."

By all manner of science, their clothing was going to need a good soak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not good at writing Wolfgang.


	2. stubborn as always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WX-78 brings food.
> 
> Wilson eats most of it.

His energy had ups and downs.

Sometimes there were numerous swings in one day. Other times the downs stayed for one, two, three days in a row.

He'd mostly been dozing today, had managed to try and drag himself out of the tent to go and change out his thermal stone for a colder one.

WX-78 wasn't too happy about the circumstances, but seemed to understand the situation well enough. They'd brought in something light, some sort of porridge with blue mushrooms mixed in. A bowl and some sort of spoon, both hollowed from wood during their spare time.

It took a moment or two to wake Wilson up.

"EAT."

A discontented grumble, before he shifted to lay on his other side, facing away from the robot.

"FLESHLING. YOU ARE TESTING MY PATIENCE." WX-78 continued in their usual monotone. They would have loved to glare, but that sort of thing wasn't available, given their facial structure.

"Mmmrhhhph." A side-eyed look from the 'fleshling'. Tired and definitely with some feathers ruffled. "And?"

"WILSON. I AM NOT IN THE MOOD TO SPOON FEED YOU LIKE DEFENSELESS BIRD YOUNG."

"You're too bloody loud."

"VOLUME SLIDER SOFTWARE NOT FUNCTIONING."

"Ask Winona for that one."

"THIS IS NOT ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT I WANT A VOLUME SLIDER. THIS IS ABOUT YOU AND YOUR HEALTH. AS YOUR OVERLORD, I COMMAND YOU TO EAT."

"And-- and since when does th' unfeelin' robot care about ih… their minion's health?"

"YOU ARE STUPID. SO, SO VERY STUPID. I CANNOT JUST KILL YOU AND REVIVE YOU. EAT. NOW."

"Pish. Fine." Stubborn as Wilson might be, he was still hungry, it seemed. He rolled over onto his back and sat up, adjusting the blankets a tad to cover himself. (For whatever reason, Wickerbottom had suggested that he change into his night clothes. He couldn't be arsed to argue.)

"GOOD." WX-78 responded, gingerly passing the bowl over to him.

He ate, and they watched, and he wasn't entirely sure why they were watching him so intently, and they weren't sure why it was taking so long.

Eventually, he'd given up on eating much more, and put the bowl down beside him.

"...THAT'S IT?"

"Mh."

WX-78 stared at the bowl. A small amount of the porridge-mixture remained.

"HM. SATISFACTORY."

The scientist just gave a huff, then flopped onto his side (and the pillow).

What followed was a fair amount of cursing, and WX-78 had no patience for it as they exited the tent.

Eventually, they came to check on the scientist, finding him to be sleeping. Rather heavily, they might add. WX-78 blinked, eyelids shutting with a plink, then opening again, before sitting down next to Wilson.

They spent the night in the tent, drifting in and out of low-power mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got bored and needed something in the interrim between a chapter involving woodie and the previous one that involved wolfgang.


	3. chest sorting: a comprehensive guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woodie catches Wilson sorting the chests.

As much as Wilson was told to take it easy, there was definitely a restless feeling that was becoming more and more obvious, especially given how he'd started bouncing his leg while sitting down and pacing around the camp.

Hell, Woodie had even caught him sorting one of the chests at one point.

And he had practically snapped up with a look that was similar enough to a cornered animal, before quickly skittering towards the tent with the most scrambling that he'd seen from someone who was trying to keep his balance, ducking inside and he definitely heard a thud from in there.

(Wilson had cussed quietly to himself for a few minutes before Woodie came in -- to check on him, he'd supposed -- and saw him, curled into a ball and clutching at his head.)

(Water had helped with that one -- part of it was probably due to dehydration, he'd suspected.)

The lumberjack watched as he paced in a loose square around the camp.

(triangles still had steep angles, there was no way he'd be able to turn around without keeling over)

Everyone else was out today, whether it was gathering rocks and gold or fighting spiders or gathering wood or just doing something.

Wilson was a horrendously antsy person when on house, or, uh, camp-arrest, it seemed.

(Better than him sleeping in the tent all day, but all that collected energy and drive to do things had to go somewhere…)

Woodie watched him circle around the chests again, then look at him, then gingerly open one and start the whole sorting-things-out bit.

He didn't go and join, figuring it'd be best to let the man do something around camp. Lucy had expressed some concern, but he'd assured her that Wilson would be fine, he's a hardy little man, he is.

He caught Wilson staring at him with an indescribable look on his face, before he cleared his throat and went back to sorting things.

Come to think of it, he was piling an awful lot of logs in one of the chests.

Perhaps it would be better if they had a different storage for firewood and burnable things in general somewhere. Willow would probably ransack it every once in a while, but that'd be alright, maybe in a cleared-off area?

Wickerbottom had come back to see Wilson sorting out some of the chests, Woodie sitting by the endothermic fire pit, and nothing on fire, thankfully.

Though, she'd definitely noted that it was a bit… odd for Wilson to be sorting chests, of all things.

A bit of chatter with Woodie revealed that he'd gotten stir-crazy enough to start sorting the chests himself. She guessed that might as well happen, given the scientist's tendency to always try and keep his hands busy.

(He'd usually skimp out on sorting chests, often with the comment that his above-ground tent needed to be cleaned up first.)

(She'd eventually gotten the message and assigned him to general collection tasks.)

She watched him pile a whole batch of burnable items, contribute some that he wasn't currently using, and shut the chest, then called him over for a break.

He'd grumbled a bit about it, but came over anyways and plopped down about as near to the fire as he was willing to go.

(bright lights hurt)

He listened to the chatter amongst the librarian and the lumberjack, with the talking… haunted axe piping up every so often.

It took them some time to realize that Wilson had fallen asleep at some point, and Wickerbottom didn't notice until Woodie pointed it out.

"Should I drag him over to the tent?"

"Probably best not to do that, I can make a straw roll for him."

"Nah, I'll make it. Your hands've been a bit shaky."

Wickerbottom huffed. "They're perfectly fine."

"If you say so. I'd still rather make it to spare you the trouble. Gentlemanly, y'know?"

"Hmmn."

Woodie started on weaving. It didn't take too much time, other than needing to prototype it at the science machine.

"D'you reckon he'll wake up again anytime today?"

"I wouldn't know about that one. Depends on how restful his sleep is."

"Ain't you an insomniac?"

"Oh, hush, you. I used to be able to sleep fairly well."

"Mm. Reckon I could beat that big Krampus bossman?"

"Not alone."

"I could easily take 'im! 'Specially with my girl Lucy."

Lucy didn't comment on that one, but Wickerbottom swore that the axe would have blushed if she could.

"I am not going to argue with you, Woodie. If you'd like to focus on the task at hand…"

"I'm getting to it."

"Thank you."

Woodie gingerly placed the straw roll down, then nudged Wilson. When that didn't work, he resorted to carrying the scientist and gently lowering him onto the straw roll.

"He's awfully heavy, ain't he?"

"Woodie! Rude." Lucy chided. "You wouldn't say that I'm heavy, would you?"

"Sorry, Luce. It slipped out."

Wickerbottom watched the two bicker and gripe (relatively gently) at each other, then looked back to Wilson.

He had curled into himself, back turned to the fire and whatever else was going on around him. Sleeping peacefully.

She blinked, and now Lucy was flirting with Woodie, with the apparent goal of trying to fluster the poor sod as much as possible.

She was definitely going to stay out of that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally, this was going to take place right after chapter one, but i decided that there needed to be more WX-78 content.


	4. adventures in touch starvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is being a bit of a shit. Maxwell, cantankerous as he may be, responds with being a little shit back.

Maxwell sat near to the endothermic fire pit, skimming over a few pages of the Codex and trying to ignore just about everyone else.

Upon being given a nudge, he tore his eyes from the accursed book and growled out a simple question. "What now?"

Wilson stood there, looking relatively unamused. Thankfully without a bandage around his head, Wickerbottom must've said he could take it off.

"Not averse, are you?"

Maxwell's face went blank as he croaked out a small "What.".

There was the _poff_ of a straw roll being laid down, then Wilson quietly made his bed and proceeded to use Maxwell's lap as a pillow.

"...What are you doing?"

"Tired."

"Yes, but why here, couldn't you have… buggered off over to the tent?"

"Got lonely. Wanted to see you."

"...Wilson, if this is your way of flirting with me--"

"Not flirting. Just like the company. Are you fine?"

"With this?" A nod from Wilson. Practically the additional context he needed. "Not entirely unwelcome, but still, this is improper!"

"Suck my nuts."

"You don't have any."

What followed was essentially a raspberry. The most mature of retorts.

"Can I at least get back to reading?"

"Yeh. Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maxwell is touch averse, but that fluctuates.


End file.
